The Dark of Doubt
by Trinity Archangel
Summary: Chris is confronted with something he can't seem to handle, so he seeks out those closest to him.
1. BARRY BURTON

Chris smashed his eyes shut, silently cursing himself for what he'd just said that sent the young woman across from him retreating into herself. His words impacted her forcefully, enticing a gasp that sent her hand precisely over the subject of their train wrecked conversation. When he opened his eyes from the cringe that had shut them, her hazel eyes were brimming with tears. Tears that she forced to retreat just to spite him thought her initial reaction had already spoken volumes of her true sentiments. Why couldn't he rewind the last moments of his life? Hit the immensely helpful but hopelessly mythical redo button? What could he say at this very moment as she was gathering herself up from the sofa to stop her?

He dipped his head, overtaken with the information. She glided past him, indignant, head held high with just enough strength to snub him and ignore the weak attempt at stopping her as her hand slid lifelessly from his own. He felt their entire life sift through his fingers like sand and disperse as she passed.

He turned his head to follow her down the hall, stood up briskly to stop her only when she was out of reach, and opened his mouth to speak just as she was closing the bedroom door.

A pace behind himself, what was done, was done.

BARRY BURTON

The walkway invited him up to the front door, illuminated by the house light casting a sleepy yellow glow on the rain slicked stepping stones. If he was in the frame of mind to retrace his steps, he still wouldn't be able to piece together how he found himself standing idly on Barry Burton's stoop. He pulled open the heavy screen and rapped his knuckles against the cherry wood door. He took a half step back with a sigh, trying to make sense of the distorted images through the decorative viewing hole. Two blurs darted by before the door swung open and a snapping set of jaws lunged at him.

"Jesus! Christ!" Chris exclaimed, throwing up his arms to protect himself.

The jaws snapped shut just shy of him, and Barry stood in the threshold dangling the unaffected Malinois just off the ground by its collar.

"Chris, my boy!" He shouted, pleasantly surprised. When Chris didn't make an attempt to come near him, he judged rightly by his pallor that the dog had done its job and with a single command the dog lost interest with Chris altogether and trotted off into the house, following the caprice of Barry's pointed finger.

"You could have warned me about Cujo! Fuck!"

Barry slid a finger over his lips to quiet him and jutted a thumb out over his broad shoulder. "The missus is having a ladies meeting," he warned with a wink, before spreading his arms.

Chris reluctantly stepped into Barry's outstretched wings but softened in the embrace of the bear hug he was swept up into. Barry had always been a real presence; a rustic sort of fellow in plaid flannel as loud as he was large. He always had a grin somewhere inside his full red whiskers now patched with grey, and a disarming way about his imposing generosity that lightened any situation. Normally, his grin was as infectious as his echoing laugh, but when Chris stood back from his crushing hug, he couldn't even lift the corners of his mouth to feign a smile. The paw he had resting on his shoulder guided him into a study he had off to the foot of the stairs.

"Have a drink," he offered Chris, forcing the sloshing glass of amber liquid into his hand before he had a chance to protest. "It's not considered a problem if I don't drink alone."

Chris sat up only to set the glass down on the end table next to him just as Barry was settling into the matching chair across from him with a cigar flagging from the corner of his mouth and a drink in his hand.

Barry's study was the definition of a man cave. His hunting escapades decorated the walls above them as well as below: a bear pelt was yawning at him with its lifeless eyes adrift just at his feet. He had a collection of recently used fishing poles jammed into a corner and a rifle undoubtedly loaded resting atop the mantle. It was all machismo posturing; if asked, he would probably have a harrowing tale of how he bagged each prize but in truth, he probably didn't have the heart to pull the trigger. He most likely still had the internet sales receipts.

Barry eyed him keenly, watching as he pried off his wet jacket and draped it over the arm rest of his chair with sluggish zeal. The skinny little insubordinate he remembered from their Air Force days was gone but there was still something of him left in the slumped form before him with his averted eyes staring off blankly into his unlit fireplace. It didn't stop him from addressing him like he always had.

"Start talking, kid."

Chris slid his reddening eyes over to the closet person to a father figure he had ever had. He couldn't even fix his lips to replay scene for scene what had gone down earlier. He sat up just enough to slouch over his knees and drag his knit fingers in his damp hair. If he stared talking now the truth would just fall out unfiltered without giving him time to rehearse and make himself look better.

"I didn't want this pregnancy for us."

If he had been looking up at his company, he would have seen Barry's eyes widen like saucers. The cigar threatened to tumble out.

Before Barry had a chance to say anything, Chris was talking again.

"I'm not a bad guy, Barry." The fingers he had knitted in this hair found their way between his knees, sheltered under his folded form.

"No…" Barry agreed.

"I don't want this for _either_ of us, you understand?" It wasn't a question. It was an imploration.

Barry nodded slowly, swirling the ice cubes around in his glass. Chris mopped his face with his hands again. It was Barry's turn to stare absently at the fireplace.

He continued. "I'm not a villain, Barry, am I? For not wanting this?" Now he was pleading. His eyes were pleading. Begging him to suffocate all the adjectives he had affixed to himself with a firm denial. He was wringing his hands when Barry shook his head resolutely.

"No." He said firmly, taking down his resting foot from atop his knee. He settled them firmly on the floor and squared off his Chris, who seemed to be rewarded with his declaration.

"But you _are_ a bastard." He swept the cigar out from his mouth and dropped it carelessly into the glass in his hand. It hissed out sharply.

Chris didn't have the energy to dissuade him. Maybe it struck him as the truth.

"What's the problem?"

Chris melted into the chair as though the conversation had exhausted him. Barry eyes were cutting into him sharply. It didn't help that a framed photo atop his desk of his wife and two daughters was angled toward him as though they were a part of the conversation.

Chris couldn't come up with anything valid other than, "I'm _thirteen_ years older than her." He threw that point out matter of fact, as though that knowledge would have leveled any argument Barry had in his arsenal.

"Did it matter yesterday?" He fired back, without missing a beat. "She's _pregnant_, Chris. You're a forty-one year old man. This pregnancy is not a punctuation of your life." Barry, feeling the weight of the conversation settling over him suddenly, found himself swept away to a too distant past where he had been in Chris' very situation. But when his hand settled over his wife's stomach, barely puckered with the swell of life blossoming in her, he went pallid. He had missed the first few weeks of life while deployed. He hadn't missed any pivotal moments, any major developments, but guilt engulfed him and swallowed him whole. He wouldn't miss another heartbeat of his child's life.

"I'd do anything to be in your situation again." He set the glass down on the floor at his feet.

Chris didn't pick up on the desperation in his friend's voice. He was too encased in himself. "You've got two grown daughters. You've been here, twice," He reminded.

"Three times," Barry corrected, raising his fingers to emphasize his point.

Chris turned his head slightly to look at him.

"Three times. Two little girls and a boy. A boy whose father was too much of a man to hold his hand everywhere, even if it was across the street." He stopped right there, a slight break in his voice and turned his glassy eyes away from Chris. He didn't ever want to see anyone else's horrified expression.

Chris came to the edge of his seat, stunned. "I. Am. So. Sorry."

Barry took in a deep, slow breath and hissed it out through his nose. He swiped at his beard and waved off Chris' apology.

"Forget it. It kinda helps, putting it out there." He cleared his throat, easing up from his recliner with a grunt. The stillness that erupted in the room was eerie. Respectfully silent. Chris rubbed his sweating palms on jeans and sank back into the chair.

"In any case," Barry started, talking from over his shoulder. He was fixing himself another drink from the small wet bar in the far corner of the room. "Stop being a selfish son of a bitch." He turned to face him, leaning on the bar and dragged his sleeve across his face.

"This isn't the end of your life. It's the beginning."


	2. LEON KENNEDY

LEON KENNEDY

By the time Chris slunk away from Barry's house with his tail between his legs, he was guilty and unresolved. His heart swelled like a balloon when she told him, as she took his hands into her own with hopeful excitement and some reservation and told him she was pregnant. Only for him to gulp and stammer in response. Only for him to watch her face morph through confusion, then realistion, then disappointment. She expected him to be happy. She wanted him to be happy. The reaction she got was anything but.

Now he was drumming his thumbs absently against his steering wheel. It wasn't like him to _need_ company. Far less from a man he resented for briefly dating his sister. He had butted heads with Leon in the past but their professions threw them together time and time again. The life he lived made avoiding him near impossible. He hated his sarcasm that everyone pardoned as wit; he hated his laissez faire response to _everything_ and his loose attachments to everyone.

But he especially hated the incredulous look Leon was giving him as he casually stood leaning an arm against his doorframe, blocking a full view of his apartment. The only light coming from inside his condo was the bluish glare from a television screen pulsing through the darkness. If he had company, he didn't want to interrupt him, but the beer bottle he held languidly in the hand that wasn't on his hip was much too common for the type of company Leon liked to keep.

"Chris?" He perked a brow as he greeted him questioningly. He didn't mean to come across inhospitable but he was the last person he expected to see like a damp cat standing at front his door. He pushed the sleeve of his shirt up to glance at his watch before waving him in.

Chris stepped forward like a somnambulist. He didn't even know where to drop his wet jacket in Leon's very eclectic metro sexual apartment. It was immaculately clean, with the décor of a minimalist, and arranged smartly in a way that made Chris wonder if Leon had been an interior decorator in another life. He followed after Leon into the living room but stopped short when he realized his wet feet were leaving a trail behind him. Leon turned to him from over his shoulder.

"Don't sweat it." He held up the beer he was drinking and swayed the bottle. "Beer?"

Chris didn't want one but he nodded anyway.

Leon padded in front the TV and muted it. He pointed off to the kitchen. "Help yourself."

By the time Chris came squeaking back to him, bottled water in hand, Leon had perched himself on the armrest of his white suede sofa and turned on his recessed lights to a comforting glow. He blew a wisp of his hair from his eyes, a habit that annoyed even himself before addressing Chris. He was still suspicious.

"What's up?"

Chris shrugged before taking a long swig of his water. "I was in the neighborhood."

Leon scoffed. "You've been living in the same city as me for nearly a year and you've only now come to visit?" He wasn't buying it. Then he snapped to attention as if he realized Chris might have been a messenger, downtrodden as he was.

"Everything ok? Is Claire…?"

Chris nodded his head. "Yeah. She's fine. Sorry."

The hand with the bottled water in it shook. It didn't get past Leon.

"Woah, bro, take a seat," Leon offered, slipping the bottle out of his hand and guiding him to a spot in the living room.

"You ok?"

Another nod. "Yeah. It's Sheva. She's—"

He felt Leon's hand slapped onto his shoulder, forcing him to look at him. "She ok?" His genuine concern was enough to convince Chris that he might give a damn about him, after all.

"She's pregnant."

Leon lurched back and blinked. "She's what? Congratulations!" He handed him back his water and clanked bottles with him. Leon was part way through a swallow before he realized Chris wasn't drinking with him.

"Uh oh." He swiped at the overflow running down his chin and took a seat on the edge of the coffee table facing Chris.

"Not the kind of reaction I'd expect out of you, big man. What's the deal?

Chris was still in his trance. "We're not married."

Leon blinked again. "Welcome to the twenty- first century."

Chris sighed heavily. "That's not what I mean, Leon. I mean—I—I don't live the kinda life conducive to having a family. My career doesn't permit stability."

Leon swept his hair away from his face and sat back. "Wow. I thought you were ready to hang that life up back in Edonia?"

"That was before Piers, I—I don't have anyone I'd appoint my position to…" He was stammering. He was doing that a lot tonight. Leon reached out and touched down on his knee briefly to settle him. He was stirring up like a tempest already.

"Easy. That's not a decision you have to make right now, away. You've got plenty of time to settle all that out before the baby gets here, right? How far along is she?"

He got a shrug as a response. "I'm not ready for this life, Leon…" He admitted softly. "I didn't mean for this to happen to her…"

Leon nodded in understanding. He was a playboy. Admittedly loose given the situation and had enough near misses for two lifetimes.

"So she wants it, and you don't…" He figured.

"I guess…"

"You guess? So what, you just walked out on her or something?"

Chris didn't want to admit that he basically had. "Something like that."

"So you know how you feel about this baby situation. Do you feel differently about her?"

"I dunno."

"You dunno…" Leon mocked in disbelief. "I'm going to sound like an ass for saying this, but I'm kind of disappointed she's pregnant too."

Suddenly he had Chris' attention. He darted his eyes up at him for an explanation.

"All this time of vicarious living, the first time you come to my place and it isn't to tell me about the bedroom jiu jitsu."

Impulsively, Chris leapt up from the sofa and shoved Leon back onto the table. His fists balled up at his sides like sledgehammers.

"Youre a _fuckin'_ pig, Leon!" Chris spat aggressively.

Leon put up a hand to calm him, chuckling at his outburst. "Woah, woah. That right there tells me exactly how you feel about her."

Chris glared at him for a moment before huffing away.

"Listen…" Leon started, straightening out his shirt. He was still sniggering about Chris' inflammatory reaction. He sprang up from the table and joined Chris on one of the barstools near his kitchen island where he'd gone off to sulk. He didn't acknowledge him when he approached.

"I'm going to tell you something I hoped I'd take to my grave, but I'm telling you so lend me your ear."

Chris' initial reluctance took a back seat when Leon's tone took a serious turn. He folded his arms across his chest and humoured him.

"I'm not proud of this but…I made a mistake once." He locked eyes with Chris for emphasis. He only wanted to imply. "I thought… 'you've got to be kidding me. There's no thought in this. Now is not the time.' Maybe it wasn't with the right girl or the timing was off…it didn't matter. I explored every avenue to rationalize my decision when I convinced this girl it was a bad idea to keep it. I had convinced _myself_."

He trailed off, shaking his head slowly as though he pitied his former self and took a swallow of his beer.

"I swear to God you'd better not be talking about my sister…" Chris interjected. He wanted to call him a son of a bitch. But he'd be cursing at the mirror. At least he could recognize his own hypocrisy.

Leon managed a little smile that crumbled the minute it made an appearance. "Heh. By the time I had changed my mind it was too late. I felt like my entire future had gotten sucked into a black hole."

The silence that had thickened the air back at Barry's study had found him again. It was tactile. Stifling. The ghost of Leon's past sullied him. Bogged down in the silence, once again, Chris didn't know what to say. Leon snapped his head up and settled his empty beer bottle on the counter top.

"I don't want to make it sound like you're going to end up like me. I don't know what your conscience is going to say to you. All I'm saying is it isn't too late. What's it about this life that's got you tethered to it, huh? Your self- inflated self righteous agendas?" He winked to soften the blow of his inserted insult. "I'd give up everything for the stability you boast about in her. This isn't necessarily a _bad_ thing, Chris. You and I fought for this kind of future. At least one of us should get to enjoy it."

Chris seemed traumised with the information. He could barely muster the "Thanks, Leon," that was so laced with emotion he had to swipe his hand across his face to make sure he wasn't crying. He wasn't. He couldn't seem to.

Leon drew his gaze skyward. "There are so many things in my past I wish I'd done differently. I wish I were wise enough not to repeat some of them. But I can't seem to look past that one event."

Chris swallowed hard. He shifted his focus everywhere but to Leon. To the floor. The kitchen. The muted television in the living room.

"I meant what I said earlier." Leon said after a time, drawing back Chris' attention.

"What?"

It was Leon's turn to swallow hard. "Congratulations."


	3. JILL VALENTINE

JILL VALENTINE

The paper with the official letterhead lay face up in his printer, waiting for him to execute the command to print the resignation letter he'd started typing forty minutes ago. Three sentences stared back at him, the last incomplete and open ended. A cold cup of coffee sat next to his desktop atop a pile of paperwork he had neglected. He rubbed his eyes with his wrists trying to sweep away the strain staring at his computer screen had given him. He reached into the top drawer for a bottle of Visine.

A felt a playful pair of hands squeeze his shoulders. It startled him because he hadn't heard the culprit approaching.

"Jill!" he exclaimed, fumbling for the bottle he tried not to drop. "What the hell are you still doing here?"

She slid into the seat across from his desk. "I should be asking you that question."

He slammed the drawer shut after wiping his eyes and folded his arms atop the desk. He shrugged. Jill reached over to his monitor unexcused and turned it to face her.

"What did I just stumble upon? Are you writing a resignation letter, Chris Redfield?" She asked bemused.

He quickly intercepted and righted the screen before she had a chance to finish reading his poorly composed letter.

She held up her hands in surrender. "Ok, jeez. I can tell you don't want to talk about it."

She guessed correctly, but by the way she had folded her arms and swung her feet up onto the seat next to her, it was obvious that she was posted for the night. She stared pointedly at him, her head tilted curiously. Chris did his best to ignore her by setting his attention on the computer screen but her very presence was irksome. She couldn't shift without distracting him.

"Jill, I'm trying to work here," he said flatly.

She took her feet down and nodded. "Hard to type with your hands propping up your chin."

Chris hissed out a sigh. "Goodnight, Jill."

She threw up her hands and got up only to take a quick seat on the edge of his desk. "Do you _really_ want me to find out from a third party why you're writing that letter?"

He didn't look at her. Her hand came right up under his chin and lifted his face to look at her. She lifted a brow insistently when she finally had his attention.

"Sheva's pregnant."

Jill shot both her hands to her mouth to stifle a gasp. "Oh, shit."

Chris nodded slowly, glazing over absently again.

"Aiden."

He shot a look of disbelief at her. She had flushed with excitement.

"There. I've submitted a boy's name."

"What?" Chris said with a start. "Why is everyone reacting the same way? Do you know what this means? She's twenty-eight years old. I've ruined any promising future for her because I—because we were careless." Again, that wasn't what he wanted to say. Not what he should have said. Honesty was avoiding him like the plague.

Jill stared at him blankly, off put by his tactless reasoning. "That sounds pedestrian and unauthentic." She said tersely.

Chris shoved away from his desk. "I'm not joking," he said as he arose.

"Holy crap, who are you?" Jill quizzed, shaking her head clear. "Is this the same Chris who made a relationship work with a girl he didn't have a thing in common with other than a pulse?"

She heard him huff from over his shoulder. "We have loads in common, Jill," he defended softly.

"Including this baby."

"That's where we differ," he mumbled under breath. It didn't go unheard.

"My God! I really don't know who you are right now."

When silence threatened, Chris piped up. He didn't want the mist of guilt to settle like it did back at Barry's and Leon's. If no one was talking he could hear his nagging conscience loud and clear. It sounded suspiciously like the aforementioned.

"Say something else, Jill, _please." _He begged. He went rummaging through his drawer again for a bottle of Excedrin. All of a sudden the fluorescent lighting was burrowing into his skull. Jill folded her arms.

"Something else," she mocked sarcastically. "Well, have you considered your alternative?"

No, he hadn't. The consideration struck him the minute he tried to dry swallow the pills. He found the cup of cold coffee and sucked down the pills before taking a seat back at his desk. Jill, thoroughly disgusted with him, was still stationed like a gargoyle at the desk corner, swaying her unanchored leg like a metronome.

Chris clamped his hands to the sides of his head. "The alternative?" He muttered, remembering what Leon had admitted back at his condo. "I don't think we need to go to that extreme…"

"Then what _are _you proposing? That she just have the baby without you? Raise it with someone else? Because if you're not proposing _that_ then you're proposing the alternative—which by the way, isn't your decision to make."

Chris had sucked his head under the safety of his arms. "Jill…just—fuck, ok? That's not what I want either," he mumbled.

She rolled her eyes at him and unfolded his arms from atop his head. "I've known you for nearly twenty years. This isn't you. What exactly is going on?"

Her stare was penetrating. She wanted an answer. If he didn't speak it seemed she could probe his mind and extract the answers he didn't want her to know. So he looked away but it hardly offered relief. He could still feel her searching him. When she didn't let up he chose to lie as vaguely as possible.

"Nothing's going on…"

"_Something's_ going on." She insisted. "What would you do if you went back to her and she wasn't there?"

The answer came to him simply and seemed so obvious that he didn't even want to answer.

"Look for her." No, scourge the Earth.

"What if she wanted to leave you?"

"Apologise." Surrender his dignity.

"What if she never came back to you?"

"…"

"And if you never saw her again?"

"Enough."

"Never knew what your child even looked like?"

"Jill! Enough!" Chris started to massage two fingers into his temples in slow circles. "You wouldn't understand."

"You're right," she conceded softly. "I don't understand. I won't ever understand. Wesker made sure that I wouldn't."

She took his hand and clamped it down over her stomach. She held fast when he tried to pull away.

"Barren," she reminded him. How could he forget that? How could he forget that the hope that was in her was utterly, completely demolished as a captive back in Africa? That of all the torture, of all the mental throes, the trauma of learning she could never be more than she was nearly finished her.

"Is this what you'd prefer?"

He pulled away from her slowly. "I didn't mean it like that, Jill, I didn't. You know I didn't."

She held up a hand to stop his struggling apology. "I know you didn't, but allow me to dismantle your charade. You're a temperamental douche bag when you don't get your way. But I know all it is, is posturing. Inside the God-awful person you're presenting right now is the soft, gooey centre of a man who is too insecure to explain how he really feels. If you don't want to tell me, fine. But tell someone." She leaned over to his computer monitor and shut off the screen.

"Go home, Chris," she said dismissingly as she slid off the corner of his desk. He watched her turn toward the door and leave completely before he looked down at his hand. It was frozen open. He remembered the eerie stillness of Jill's body pressed up against his hand.

It wasn't what he preferred.


	4. CLAIRE REDFIELD

CLAIRE REDFIELD

Chris didn't make any attempt to shield himself from the rain. Even if it was just drizzling he felt as if he was in the midst of a raging hurricane. He wished the walk to his car had taken him longer. He wanted to start the car, but he didn't know where he would go. He ran his fingers through his hair a few times to dry it out and wiped his hands on his pants. Pedestrian and inauthentic? Jill had seen right through his ruse. Leon had pegged him for a coward. Barry thought he was a bastard. He pressed his forehead onto the steering wheel, wishing the car would just drive itself.

His phone hummed in his pocket.

"Hello?"

"Chris, are you watching the news right now?" It was Claire.

"…No…"

"It's amazing! They send the entire Eastern BSAA stationed in the Asia to explore a 'possible bio- terrorist' threat but couldn't send ONE team to a confirmed location in the Middle East? When they finally do, oops! 'Turns out there was nothing in the abandoned bunker but a rest stop for sheep herders.' How convenient for a country that has oil."

Chris glanced over at the digital clock in his dashboard. "You're up kinda late, aren't you?"

"I am. And why are you so blasé about this? This will eventually affect you?"

Chris sighed. "Not in the frame of mind to be outraged, I guess."

Claire narrowed her brows suspiciously. "Are you in your car? I can hear your seatbelt chiming."

Chris turned off the battery from the ignition for her sake. He didn't even realize it was chiming until she'd said something. "Yeah," he admitted, "I'm in my car."

"What's wrong?" She prodded gently, sensing the forlorn nature in his words. They carried a sigh in them, and ended without inflection.

"I'll tell you Claire, but promise me you won't react. At all."

Claire had already wound up with the phone practically swallowed into her ear. It wouldn't help to make a promise she already knew she couldn't keep. Expecting the worst had her frozen in place. She shot out a hand for the TV remote and turned it off.

"What's wrong?" She insisted, voice barely above a whisper.

Chris pinched the bridge of his nose. "Sheva just told me she was pregnant."

He may have heard her shuffle. Other than that she was dead silent. He had to test the water.

"Claire…?"

"I'm here…"

"You didn't say anything."

"I know. You told me not to react." She was hyperventilating. She tried to hold the quick breaths she was taking in but it wasn't helping. She wanted to explode with a reaction.

"Oh my God, Chris. How am I supposed to feel? Tell me how you want me to react."

He shrugged, frustrated. "Just go for it. I don't care anymore."

"Is Sheva with you?"

"No."

"Oh my God. You're going to be a father. You're going to have a baby. You guys are going to be parents…"

He heard her sniffle. "Are you_ crying?"_

"I am," she admitted, congested. She swept away her tears with her fingers. "I'm crying because you sound so depressed."

Chris felt a lump rising in his throat. _Depressed._ He sounded depressed. His chest tightened. The next time he tried to speak, he choked on his own words. Before he knew it, his face was wet with tears.

"I didn't want this…I'm not prepared to be a _father. _I didn't want this." He confessed.

His startling admission helped to compose Claire. She had only suspected, but hearing him confirm the source of his depression was sobering. It made her nightmares real. She went beet red the next instant.

"What did you _think_ was going to happen, Chris?!" She fired, flaring her arm. If he was in front of her she would have slapped him. Or shove him. Or punch him in the arm. She didn't know what she would have done but it would have been something. She was too upset to be decisive about a hypothetical situation.

"Why, Chris?"

"…I.."

"Why?!" She insisted, cutting him off. She wasn't going to let him spoon-feed her any bullshit. He could hate her later.

"I don't know what I'm doing, Claire! I don't know how to _be_ a father! When mom and dad left us, I was _sixteen!_"

"You took care of me…"

"Took care of yo—I joined the Air Force! I didn't take _care_ of you, I ran away!"

"Oh my God, Chris…Oh my God…have you been harbouring resentment for yourself all this time? That was over twenty years ago! Do you need me to forgive you, is that it? What do you think is required of you to be a father?"

He didn't answer. He put the phone on speaker and dropped in it his cup holder to free up his hands. He didn't want his sister to hear him sobbing. He covered his face with his hands to muffle himself and just listened. Maybe he needed to hear her diatribe. He certainly felt like he did.

"Sheva didn't have the greatest upbringing either. Didn't she lose both her parents younger than we were when our parents died? Raised in a war torn country somewhere behind God's back by Guerillas? Do you think that disqualifies her from being a mother? For the love of God, argue about a _name_ or a college, Catholic or Protestant, Democratic or Republican, normal shit, but not this! _Have_ this baby. Babies aren't accidents. If not now, then when? If not her, then who?"

She took a moment for her point to drive home. Her eyes were brimming with tears again. She couldn't believe her brother didn't want his own child. When she didn't hear him, she started up again.

"Why don't you want to have this baby?"

Chris sucked in a staggering breath. He knew he couldn't hide the fact that he was crying if he spoke. But it needed to be said. He knew he would stutter. He knew he would break composure. He knew his tears would come tumbling down his face again faster than he could mop them up. The truth was about to explode out of him.

"I-I _do_ want this baby, Claire! I want it more than anything else I've ever wanted. I want it to have t-ten fingers, and ten toes. I want it to be everything I'm not. I've been exposed to Uroboros, The T-Virus, the C-virus and you name it. Sheva too. I dunno what to expect. I dunno what to do if it isn't all right. I'm scared to fucking death and I don't know how to tell anybody that. Sheva thinks I'm fucking _Superman, _but I'm not—I'm just Clark Kent."

Claire got up and went to the bathroom. She was surprised that her gelatin legs could even get her there. She snatched up a few tissues from the box top her vanity and dabbed at her eyes. She skipped looking at herself in the mirror.

"Superman isn't real. You are. You're a great brother."

He may have been. Her compliment made him even more emotional than he already was.

"You're a great man."

He had enough accolades to attest to that. Honors, privileges, rank, status, appreciation. It didn't really amount to much now. That wasn't the true measure of a man. He pulled the tail of his dampened shirt up over his face, his shoulders shrugging with each heaving breath.

"You'll be a great dad."

They didn't share another word for a few minutes. The timer on his cell phone ticked away the seconds of a voiceless conversation. Claire was only gulping up the last bit of tears while Chris was trying to breathe through a congested nose. He dragged down his shirt and took a look at himself in the rearview mirror. He couldn't remember the last time he'd cried like this. Maybe never. He plucked the phone out of the cup holder and took it off speaker.

"What do I do now? I fucked up everything earlier."

"Chris, I'm sorry, I know you said it earlier, but do you really want to have this baby?"

"Yes." He answered unwaveringly. "I do."

"Good." She muttered. "Good." She needed to hear it again. The Chris she remembered was speaking again. "If Sheva needs to hear that, then go tell her."

He nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I'd better go do that."

"Chris?"

"Yeah?"

"Is it okay to be happy now?" She sniffled.

He chuckled lightly. "Yeah, sis. It is."


	5. SHEVA ALOMAR

SHEVA ALOMAR

By the time he had let himself back into her apartment, she had already made up her mind. She was finished crying. She was over feeling sorry for herself. She had made her decision, and it didn't include him.

It was easy to be decisive in theory. Testing the strength of her resolve would take the courage she lacked.

"Oh, God," she moaned, leaning against the kitchen counter. If it hadn't been there she would have been sitting on the floor.

She couldn't tell if she was sorry she was losing Chris because of the baby or sorry because she'd gotten herself pregnant.

When the door swung open and Chris lumbered in, their eyes touched for a brief moment before she turned away and started for the bedroom. She didn't want to deal with him now.

"Wait, Sheva, wait," he implored, wrapping his arms around her. She was determined to get away from him. She tried to pull forward out of his grounding embrace but it was getting her nowhere. She felt dirty with him. Stupid. Alone.

"Chris, let me go."

"No. Listen to me. Are you gonna listen?"

"No! Just let me go!"

"Sheva, don't fight me…"

He spun her to face him, risking a well-placed knee to the groin he hoped wasn't coming and directed her back into the living room.

She twisted away from him. "I get it. You don't want—"

He covered her mouth with his hand. "Please. Don't."

She tore off his hand with a fiery determination to set the record straight with him. It was very much like him to be domineering and insisting but he was only that way with her if she allowed it. He had met his match in her before and he would meet it again tonight. Before he had a chance to say anything she had a wagging finger jammed into his face.

"Let me tell you something, I didn't get this way on my own and it didn't seem to be of any consequence to you to throw caution to the wind at the time. No matter how you resist this pregnancy, it's here to stay. Your selfish counterpoints aren't going to change the way I feel about this baby. I'm _having_ it." She drew her hands to her stomach as if she was protecting it from anything Chris could say in rebuttal. She was shielding their baby from him.

He swallowed back the swell of emotion that threatened to take him. She continued.

"I'm thirteen weeks. Thirteen weeks ago I didn't regret what I was doing. I didn't regret you. I'm having it. With or without you," she finished, looking away from him. She didn't want to catch his eyes, least they were antagonistically steadfast. Least they break down her confident stance because it certainly wasn't resolve that made her stand up to him.

If she had, she would have caught them swollen with regret. All that he would ever be he saw through her eyes; tonight he had caught glimpses of disdain and repugnance.

"Then have it _with_ me."

He took hold of her hands and gently guided them away from the baby she buried behind her folded arms. There was scarcely a bulge, yet his eyes were stapled to it as though he were watching it form before his eyes.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry you're gonna have a baby for a guy who has no clue what he's doing. A guy who's too stubborn to admit when he's scared or too proud to say what he's feeling."

He dared to draw her closer to him. "I'm sorry for what this means for you."

She wanted to interrupt him but he read her thoughts and placed a finger over her lips.

"I'm especially sorry that I can't promise that I can come back to you from a mission."

She shot her head up to look at him. She didn't want to acknowledge that possibility. She wouldn't give it a foothold in her thoughts to have power over her life. She would _never_ consider it again. She nestled her head against his chest as he guided her arms round his body.

He found her forgiveness in her embrace as he settled his chin atop her head. "What if…"

"What _if_," she began her counter, "nothing goes wrong?"

He didn't have an answer for that. He couldn't prepare for nothing. He marveled at her fearlessness. She had to do the brunt of the work for the next nine months, yet she appeared battle ready for an experience neither of them had before encountered.

"Aren't you afraid at all?"

Her answer was direct. "I'm more excited than afraid."

"I'm so old…" He lamented.

"My father was 54 when I was born."

Chris popped his eyebrows in surprise. He felt he should have known that. The chasm the death of their parents had created between them had never been explored. Her pregnancy was but a grain of sand to fill the void. His mother was a hobby artist. She painted abstract pieces in bold colours. His father surrendered willingly the garage to use as her studio. Did Sheva know that?

He blurted it out with an air akin to guilt, as if saying it relieved some of the pressure in his lungs. He hung back with wide eyes to see how she would absorb the information. She had never known.

Sheva was willing to trade histories with him. "My mother spoke three dead languages."

"My dad was a skilled mason."

"My grandfather was chief of the village my parents grew up in."

"_My _grandfather was…" He trailed off. _Most likely in the klan, _he thought with digression. "One of thirteen boys."

He pulled back from her when they had finished flinging sand. "What should I do?"

She sat down onto the couch with a sigh, shrugging.

"You know how Little Drummer Boy goes? It's my favourite Christmas song because the drummer can only play his best for the Christ child and it was enough. That's all I want from you, Chris."

"You're suspiciously level-headed," he admitted, sinking into the couch next to her.

"I may have called Josh," she admitted with a flickering smile.

"Ah." He draped an arm along the back of the couch, turned in to face her and for once since the tumultuous night began, smiled. Her fingers found his hair and absently, he found himself humming a song and keeping count by tapping gently on her stomach.

It was horrible. It was gravelly, choppy and off key. To Sheva, it was the most pitifully beautiful song she had heard, hearing only with appreciative ears that only a lover could stand solely because his intentions were pure.

She silenced him with a kiss anyway. It was enough.


End file.
